


A Drowning Soul Will Clutch at Any Straw

by shireness



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CSSNS 2k19, F/M, mermaid!Emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 14:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19320469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: Though this is far from Killian Jones' first encounter with a mermaid, he's never met any quite like this blonde siren. Together, can they break a cruel curse?





	A Drowning Soul Will Clutch at Any Straw

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my entry for this year's Captain Swan Supernatural Summer! Thanks to the mods for putting together such a great event. Extra thanks to @hollyethecurious for her wonderful artwork (make sure you check it out on tumblr and give her lots of love!) and @snidgetsafan for her beta duties.
> 
> Rated T for language.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s agreed upon on every shore of this realm’s oceans: Killian Jones is one hell of a captain.

He’s not just saying that either, as vain as it sounds - he’s proved it, many times over. After all, who else can boast of having not only evaded every nation’s navy for as long as he has, but outrun curses, cut through the most treacherous of waters, and even discovered every secret way in and out of Neverland? No, in this case, as in all others (a pirate he may be, but he still prides himself on being a true gentleman), his word is worth its weight in gold.

Yes, Killian Jones prides himself on being the best captain this realm has ever seen, able to handle everything fate and the sea has thrown his way for well over a century. This storm, however, is testing every moment of his vast experience and all the seafaring instincts he possesses.

It had arisen suddenly and without warning. This isn’t a corner of the world Killian or his crew have ever visited before, a remote island he’s never even seen on any of his maps. Smee had heard a rumor though, in a seedy tavern in a seedy town while the rest of them had been more concerned with finding spirits and female companionship, of a glorious treasure hidden on a secret island. In all his years, Killian has never been one to turn down treasure, and this rumor is no different. Sure, it might not lead anywhere, but at this point, what do any of them have to lose? With the Dark One long since disappeared and the king who killed Liam even longer since overthrown, they’re only in this now for the thrill of it all. Treasure hunting seems just as good a pastime as any. 

The rumor had neglected to mention whatever magical enchantments are protecting the island, however - because mark his words, there’s something unusual about this storm, something otherworldly. Killian has been around for a long while, and has seen a lot of things, but a storm spontaneously forming in a matter of minutes from what was a cloudless sky and calm seas is not one of them. He’s been around long enough, too, to recognize magic, and the air here practically reeks with the stuff. Something more is a play here - something sinister. And until they can identify it and defeat it, he and his men are left clinging to drenched ropes as the Jolly tilts precariously from side to side.

“Turn us into the waves, Mr. Smee!” He yells over the crush of noise. “Let’s work with this storm instead of against it!”

“Aye aye, Captain!” The stout man yells back. His red hat is obviously drenched through, but for some unimaginable reason he still insists on wearing the stupid thing. Frivolities aside, he’s a good first mate, able to get the other men to follow orders quickly and efficiently, leaving Killian free to scan the waves for whatever might be causing this. He’s got his suspicions already, based off his long experience in Neverland, and if he can just spot something amongst the waves —

—  _ There _ . A flash of silver, too bright to be just the light on the waves, and a lilting feminine voice he shouldn’t be able to hear over the storm around them. 

“Prepare the nets, Mr. Smee!” He calls. “There’s a merbitch in the water, and I’ve got a mind to go fishing!”

With a target in mind, the men cheer before scurrying to man their stations, guiding the ship into position as Killian directs them to capture their quarry.

He’ll give the scaly cunt this much: she fights back. Hard. For the first time in decades, Killian is genuinely concerned that the Jolly Roger will capsize as the waves rise higher and higher all around them. It’s easy to miss the flash of her tail amongst the squall, but Killian and the crew do their best to keep her in sight, teams of men working with nets to trap and entangle her. And eventually, their efforts succeed.

Killian expects the mermaid to be spitting mad when they haul her aboard - he certainly would be, in her position - but he’s shocked by her… acceptance isn’t quite the word. There’s still too much defiance, too much fire in her eyes to truly call it that. But she doesn’t fight back either, or curse them all to a variety of watery hells even as lightning strikes dangerously close to the ship. Instead, she tilts her chin upwards as Killian approaches, his sword drawn and resting against his shoulder in a contradictory move between threat and casualness, making sure to meet his eyes. All the while, she continues singing, her words melodically wrapping around them both - and almost certainly controlling this storm, like the sirens of legend. She’s dooming them with her very voice.

“Anything to say for yourself, siren?” he sneers. He almost hopes she does - would welcome the chance to rid them of such a predator, even one wearing such a pretty face.

The singing doesn’t stop, though, even as she stares boldly into his face. With her arms still tangled in the net, it’s her only means of defense, and she seems intent on using it. If it wasn’t obvious how she was summoning the storm before, it is now as a bolt of lightning cracks down dangerously close to the ship as her singing crescendos. He may have the weapons, but in this fight for their lives, it’s obvious who’s winning.

It’d be so easy to just gut the fish-woman where she lies, dispatch her like the monster she’s currently behaving as, but something makes him look closer, push past the noise echoing in his ears to really examine the creature in front of him. Her expression is a careful blank mask, only the bold set of her chin betraying any emotion or personality, but her eyes… her eyes are brimming with emotion. Horrifically human. Confoundingly pleading.

_ End this _ , they beg.  _ End me. _

Killian raises his sword to strike.

———

He shouldn’t have done it - left her alive, that is.

He’d been fully prepared to end her, for the sake of his whole crew, but at the last moment he had knocked her out with the hilt of his sword instead. Something about those eyes… he couldn’t do it. They’d been a little too human, a little too  _ female _ , and he’s always prided himself on being a gentleman.

(There’s also the fact that after decades,  _ centuries _ , he’s bloody  _ bored _ , and he can’t deny that there’s something intriguing about the mermaid who asks for death. She’s a mystery, a pleasant diversion, and he can’t bring himself to kill the first interesting thing to happen to him in  _ ages _ .)

Regardless of method, the storm had abruptly stopped as soon as the mermaid had been knocked into unconsciousness, black skies giving way again to the rosy colors of a sunset at sea, which had been the goal all along. Killian had just taken a slightly different path to get there. After that, they had located the largest tub they could find and relocated it to the brig, where it had been filled with water behind the iron bars before their unexpected guest was deposited in it and locked up. It’s true that Killian Jones may be a pirate, but he’s not a cruel man, not without severe provocation, and it seems a bit much to beach the siren, so to speak, if she’ll be with them for any amount of time. 

For now, she’s still unconscious, and Killian is left playing the waiting game. He’s got a fair few questions for their piscine guest, after all. He can’t help but examine her form in the meantime, driven both by boredom and the desire to be there the very moment she wakes up. There’s something more intimidating about waking up to find the captain present, after all, as if already waiting to dole out judgement and punishment. He could tell himself that his examination is just precautionary, sizing up the enemy, but the truth is that his appreciation is much more aesthetic. The mermaid is, in a word, striking - a little too dangerous to be pretty and a little too  _ real _ to be otherworldly. She could be the very source of all the tales of sirens’ dangerous beauty. The lantern’s light reflects almost blindingly off her silver-scaled tail in the darkness of the brig, though with this closer proximity he can pick up glints of blue and green amongst the metallic sheen where it hangs lazily over the edge. Her hair is blonde and tousled by the waves, the wet locks drying before his eyes into a mess of curls. A smattering of small braids twines through the strands, though he can’t tell from here whether they’re simply intended for looks or as a small effort towards taming the way it must all billow around her head underwater. Her breasts are covered by some contraption made of seaweed and shells, which strikes Killian as a bit odd; he’s spent a good amount of time with mermaids during his many years in Neverland, and they’ve never been particularly known for their modesty. Her skin, apart from her shimmering tail, is pale - pale in a way that betrays how rarely she must seek out the surface. Again, odd - most mermaids sun themselves on the rocks like lazy cats and pick up quite the tan for their efforts. The paleness of her skin makes her seem more dangerous in a way he can’t quite put his finger on - the remoteness it suggests, perhaps, or the way it displays the scars collected on her torso and arms. Perhaps the business of turning ships into toothpicks is more dangerous than he gave her credit for.

Killian realizes he’s wandered closer than he intended at the same moment that he hears her breathing minutely change, and hurriedly takes a step back. Only moments later, her eyes flutter open, scanning her surroundings with brows furrowing in confusion before settling on where he leans faux-casually against a wall. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know,” she quips, rolling her eyes - also unlike any other mermaid he’s had the questionable pleasure to meet, who were all vain creatures who revelled in any form of male attention. Sarcasm and cheek were not in their vocabulary - just jealousy, pettiness, and a simpering vanity he’d quickly tired of.

(He notes, too, that this mermaid’s voice is all gravelly, like she hasn’t spoken in a long while. And who knows - way out here in this forgotten corner of the world, that just might be true.)

“Can you blame a man?” he asks, pushing off the wall to saunter closer again. “It’s not often we have such lovely ladies on this ship. Or any ladies, really. And when I’ve got one so alluring in front of me… well. I’m only human, lass.”

She makes a noise that might almost be a laugh, something that might almost be a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth, before sobering again. Killian doesn’t like that nearly as well. “You should have killed me,” she states. Matter-of-fact. Looking right at Killian, as if to best drive her point home.

It doesn’t work.

“Ah, well, you see, about that. I didn’t.” It’s probably - definitely - too lighthearted for the subject at hand. “I am, however, quite intrigued as to why you’d want that in the first place. I’ve been sitting here asking myself, ‘What kind of mermaid creates the storm of the century, almost sinks our ship and kills the entire crew, only to ask for death when she’s caught instead of smiting us all to smithereens?’ Don’t think I didn’t notice that very impressive lightning, love, because it did not escape my notice that you could have doomed every last one of us in a second.”

“The cursed kind,” she fires back. “The kind that doesn’t want to kill anyone in the first place.”

“Seems a little far fetched,” he comments, because it does. Even in a land bursting with magic, it sounds like the plot of a tall tale. A mermaid - a woman? - cursed to do terrible things against her will. How ridiculous.

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“And how did you get cursed, pray tell?”

“The usual way,” she replies, smiling like she knows just how much this crypticness is irritating him. She probably does. Finally, some way she’s like every other mermaid of his experience. 

“And for those of us less experienced with curses?” He almost certainly sounds exasperated, and couldn’t care less about it. 

“There was a witch. I’m sure you can piece together the rest.”

“Gods, but you are maddening,” Killian mutters under his breath. It must not be that quiet, though, as he can spot the mermaid’s mouth twitching back towards a smile. “So let me get this straight. You were cursed by a witch for some reason - I assume you won’t be so courteous as to tell me why?” She shakes her head on a smirk. “Of course not. So you’re cursed by a witch, and spend the next gods know how long forced to sink any ship that comes into your territory. Is that about right?”

“That’s the gist of it,” she agrees. “I haven’t had legs since Stephen the Second of Misthaven, if that clears matters up at all.”

Killian does the math in his head - once, then again when his first result seems too absurd to be believed. “That’s over six hundred years!”

She shrugs. “I’ll trust you on that. There’s not much way to track time, down below the surface. I’m sure you can imagine, the years all start to blend together eventually.”

He does know - better than she could have guessed. After all, he’s an almost three hundred year old man who just met the only person in existence older than him. It takes a swig from his ever-present flask to really move past that. 

“So you’ve been cursed for six centuries,” he reasons out, “and not once have you tried to do anything about it? There’s no way to break your curse? No mortality clause?”

“You think I haven’t tried?” she scoffs. “I know this curse better than anything else in this realm, or any other. I know exactly where the boundaries of my bay are, the markers I can’t cross without swimming face first into invisible walls. The singing is beyond my control. I don’t need food to survive, or air, or daylight. The only way out of this curse is death, and I can’t even manage that.”

It’s horrifying to hear her speak so callously of her search for a way out of her curse by any means, but Killian supposes he can almost understand it. She’s had her free will ripped away for hundreds of years; having lived through that particular nightmare himself as a slave in his youth, he can understand how it would drive a man, or woman, to madness. The longevity of this curse really is striking; Killian doesn’t consider himself an expert on magic by any means, but he does know that generally, curses don’t last past the death of the person who cast it. It suggests other, just as impossible things - namely, that this sorceress is still alive somewhere.

“What about the witch?” he asks. “Did you ever attempt to track her down again?”

“Did you miss the part where I couldn’t leave my territory?” she shoots back in her dry, sarcastic voice. “Doesn’t leave much opportunity for searching for witches, even if I wanted to. She used to come to the island, it felt like to taunt me, but even that stopped ages ago. Decades, perhaps even a century or two.”

She had mentioned her barriers before. Killian feels like a little bit of a numbskull for not retaining it, honestly. “Aye, well, consider this my cordial invitation to assist you in such a quest,” he declares pompously, sketching an elaborate bow towards the barrel. It’s only mostly an attempt to save face - he would have offered anyways. He’s always had a soft spot for damsels in distress, after all.

She doesn’t seem to take him at his word however, snorting and rolling her eyes at the offer. “Be serious, Captain. It’s not nice to tease.”

“I assure you, milady, I’m deadly serious,” he returns. 

“It’s a terrible idea. You don’t even know my name, you just think you’ve heard some sob story and want to watch it play out,” she argues.

“Killian Jones,” he replies, introducing himself as a counterargument. “Feared pirate of the seven seas - though many are more familiar with my more colorful moniker.  _ Hook _ . And you are…?”

“That still doesn’t answer what you expect to get out of this.” He’s not sure if it could be considered a true deflection, but it’s definitely a blatant avoidance of his question - whether to protect herself or leave him in the dark, he’s not sure. Maybe a bit of both. The mermaid certainly seems to enjoy annoying him.

More to the point, it’s a good question she poses, as Killian isn’t quite sure what he actually expects out of this. He’s not usually given towards such generosity - rather against the pirate code, and all that. He’s not operating a charity. The mermaid in front of him though… he couldn’t tell you why, but he keeps coming back to the word  _ interesting _ . He’s never met anyone quite like her, on legs or fins - an intriguing mix of danger and allure and just a touch of tragedy. Killian has been a bit at loose ends ever since he discovered that his Dark One problem took care of itself, and like it or not, hearing about the problems of cursed mermaids is a welcome diversion, as ridiculous as that feels to admit. The truth is that he wants to help her if only to see all this play out, and maybe try to figure out the woman in front of him a little along the way.

(There’s also the fact that he dislikes witches even more than he mistrusts mermaids, but she  _ definitely _ doesn’t need to know that.)

That honest reason is a little too personal, however, so Killian quickly spins a different excuse. “A clear path to whatever treasure is hidden on that island would be nice,” he offers, smirking in a way that he hopes will sell his facade of being just a greedy pirate. It’s a good enough excuse, and he’s not so intrigued by their finned guest that he’s already forgotten how he and the crew stumbled into this mess in the first place.

The snort is back. Again. It seems to be his guest’s default reaction - sarcasm and completely rejecting whatever he has to say. It’s a bit off-putting, but he supposes allowances have to be made for those who haven’t had proper human interaction in hundreds of years. “If you’re searching for treasure, you’re going to be disappointed,” she confides. “There’s nothing on that island. Never was. Ages ago, witches used to meet here for coven meetings or some shit - that’s why I’m here, to protect the island from any meddlers - but that dropped off ages ago. It’s just a bunch of rocks up there - no gold, no jewels, no buried treasure. Nothing. So if that’s your reason for offering to help me, it’s not worth your time. Kill me now, or toss me back into the sea, but I can’t give you what you seek.”

That’s not it, though, not really. Yes, treasure and riches beyond all their imaginings would be nice, but his desire to keep this woman on his ship for a little while longer has nothing to do with it. Instead, he settles on bluster. “Like I said, love, I’m a simple man, with simple pleasures, and one of those is having enchanting women aboard my ship.” It must not work, however, as she fixes him with an unimpressed look - or at least, as unimpressed a look as she can manage while in such an undignified position. Still, it’s enough for Killian to quickly cave. “And, maybe, your witch hunt is the most interesting thing I’ve come across in years.”

She fixes him with a searching look for a moment longer, before finally nodding. “Alright, then, you’ve got a deal.”

“That’s what did it?” Killian demands incredulously. “Everything else I’ve said, and it’s boredom that you buy, out of all that?”

“I understand boredom,” she replies simply. “After all this time, it’s an old friend.”

Kindred spirits. He supposes he can believe that. 

“In that case, welcome aboard, Miss…?”

“Emma,” she finally smiles, trusting him with her name like it’s her greatest secret. “Emma Swan.”

———

The first order of business is setting the men to work building an even larger tub for their fish-tailed guest. The original had been fine for a prisoner, but her tail doesn’t fit all the way inside, the iridescent flipper at the end obviously hanging over the edge and losing its sheen as it dries out. An invited guest deserves a bit more comfort - or at least to be able to fully submerge her tail. They’d seriously debated just releasing her back into the ocean to swim alongside the Jolly, but there’d been some uncertainty about whether her curse would allow it. After her talk of invisible walls she can’t cross, it seems like that the only reason she’s been able to leave her cove is because they’d hauled her aboard and forcibly carried her away from the bounds of her prescribed territory. He and Emma are both a little concerned about what might happen if she were returned to the water. Magic is so intrinsically involved with all of this; would it transport her right back to where it’s deemed she belongs? The larger tub may still be uncomfortable, but at least they can be sure she’ll stay put. 

Somewhat more uncomfortable is the fact that the finished container is installed in the captain’s quarters - Killian’s quarters. Though ruthlessly organized, the Jolly is a small ship, and each inch is precious for storage and housing the crew. Besides the brig, only Killian’s space offered enough room to hold the container Emma would be calling hers for the indeterminable future. Between that and the windowless cell, it hadn’t really been much of a choice. It’ll be more convenient as he and Emma attempt to chart a course anyways - or at least that’s how Killian tries to convince himself.

“It’ll still be close quarters, I’m afraid. Not much privacy,” he apologizes, reaching to scratch behind his ear in an expression of embarrassment that makes him feel like some bashful youth again. 

“What, are you the only modest pirate in existence?” Emma asks, mouth twisted into a smirk at his expense. “I’m a big girl, Jones, I’ve been around men before. It’ll be fine. I’ll even cover my eyes while you undress, if it makes you feel better.”

“That’s not —” he tries to protest, before sighing. “Fine. Good. Let’s do this, then.”

He’d carried her before, from the deck down here to the brig while she was unconscious, but it’s a different thing now when Emma’s awake and an ally and someone he has to be careful with. The weight isn’t an issue - he’s carried rum barrels heavier than her, though the pure muscle that makes up her tail is rather heavier than he expected of someone who is otherwise so slight - but with the woman in question awake to wrap her arms around his neck in an attempt to make the maneuver easier, it seems very intimate. One breast presses softly against his chest through her bodice and his shirt, and he’s suddenly very aware of every inch of bare skin his hand is touching along her back. It was easier to ignore such things when she was a nameless enemy - now that he’s seen a little of the woman in his arms, it just feels like an invasion of her privacy and a step in whatever this alliance is that neither of them was ready to take, especially him. The whole thing does nothing to help the blush that’s already established residence across his cheekbones, and he can feel Emma quivering with suppressed laughter in his arms.

“Shut up and watch your head,” he mutters as they begin the trek up the rickety wooden stairs, finally working a full laugh out of Emma. It’s nice to hear, though rough around the edges in the same way her voice was at first. Killian supposes she hasn’t had much reason to laugh in a long while either. 

“Aye aye, Captain,” she chuckles as he begins the ascent.

It’s more than a little cramped in his cabin, what with the tub competing for space with all his regular furniture. There’s not even that many pieces - just a table and chairs, the bed, a storage cabinet and a handful of trunks - but the Jolly isn’t a particularly large ship, and the Captain’s cabin is no different; space has always been more a dream than a reality.

“Sorry about the clutter,” he offers bashfully. Embarrassment isn’t a common feeling for Killian; the pirate’s life doesn’t lend itself well to shame. Something about having a lady in his quarters, however - particularly  _ this _ lady, and particularly knowing she’ll be here for the foreseeable future - brings back that youthful kind of anxiety of wanting everything to be perfect. It almost makes him wonder if he’s been put under some spell, like in the mermaid tales of old, but dismisses it as ridiculous. There’s limits to what he’s willing to believe, especially where this particular mermaid is concerned.

“It’s fine, really,” Emma replies, reclining gracefully in her makeshift tank. “It’s a nice change to be surrounded by such…  _ human  _ things after so long under the sea. The view doesn’t hurt either,” she adds, gesturing widely towards the square paned windows lining one wall, displaying the sea in all her dangerous glory. It’s a favorite view of Killian’s as well, especially now when the sky is just starting to turn all the colors of the sunset, each one reflected between the peaks of the waves. It’s the only thing that really sets the captain’s cabin apart from any others, except for the extra privacy.

“Aye, it’s really something, isn’t it,” he murmurs softly, allowing himself to share a moment of reflection with his guest before snapping himself back to himself. “You said you were from Misthaven? If we’re going to do this, we should set a proper course.”

“Yes, Misthaven. It was just a little village, though, it didn’t even really have a name that I was aware of.”

“If I got out my maps, do you think you could recognize the area, at least?” As Killian asks, he’s already moving.

“I think so. Worth a shot, at least,” Emma agrees. 

Grabbing the appropriate map, Killian tosses it on the table top before pushing the whole thing as close as he can to where Emma reclines. As soon as the surface gets close enough, Emma rearranges herself in the tub to prop her arms on the table, splashing a little as she turns in the tub. They’re going to need plenty of towels, Killian realizes suddenly. Oh, what logistical things you don’t consider when you agree to house a mermaid in your quarters.

Quickly, he unrolls the map and weighs it down with a handful of paperweights. “Do you remember anything else? Any starting point?”

“It was on the eastern coast,” Emma replies, tilting her head in thought and squinting into the distance. “There was a little island nearby in the sound, too, but I don’t think anyone lived there.”

They continue like that for the next hour, eventually narrowing it down to three possible sites - all once tiny fishing hamlets, all now sizable towns, and in one case a bustling city. A lot can happen in 600 years, as it turns out. 

They’ve got a plan, now, but Killian is left with more questions - namely, the particulars of his companion’s curse. 

“I don’t suppose you want to share why you were cursed?” he asks casually, leaning against the cabinet with a smirk.

“Not unless you want to explain how a nice Navy boy became a notorious pirate,” she smirks back. 

It immediately throws Killian off whatever game he was playing - probably her intention all along. She shouldn’t know anything about that. “How do you know about that?” he demands, straightening to attention.

“I’ve got hundreds of years’ experience with ships. Of course I can recognize a Royal Naval vessel, even dressed as a pirate ship,” she declares loftily. It only lasts a moment though before she relaxes back into that smirk. “And I saw all the old Naval manuals on your shelf. I figured a pirate who took the ship would most likely just get rid of them, but someone who kept them probably had a sentimental reason to.”

“So a guess,” he concludes.

“Ah, but a good one,” she winks. “So, are you going to tell me?”

“Perhaps another day,” Killian smiles tightly. Truthfully, he doesn’t have any intention of telling her; his memories of the Navy are far too tied up with his memories of Liam, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to share them. “And you?”

“Perhaps another day,” she echoes.

They’ve done more than enough sharing for the day.

———

There’s unexpected things you learn when you’re living with a mermaid, as Killian comes to discover.

He learns within the first few days that she’s a voracious reader, whipping through the adventure novels he keeps beneath the window. It alleviates a lot of the guilt he feels about leaving her alone all day while he goes about the business of leading a crew above decks. She’s meticulously careful about it, too, making sure to never drip on the pages. Killian happily leaves her a stack of books in the morning, and usually she’s completed one by the end of the day - oftentimes more, especially if she picks a short volume or books of poetry. It’s one of the things he hadn’t really thought about - how she must not have heard any new stories in centuries. How lonely she must have been in her corner of the sea,  he can’t help but think , starved both for companionship and any news of the outside world. 

More surprising are her dining habits - or lack thereof, rather. He’d brought her dinner that first night - nothing fancy or unusual, just some fish they’d caught earlier in the day and a few hardtack biscuits to wash it down with - only for Emma to stare at the plated offerings with an odd look on her face. It’s not quite confusion, and stops shy of suspicion, but it’s definitely not enthusiasm either. As Killian really processes what he’s offered her, he flushes. Again. Gods, what is it about this woman that’s turned him back into some blushing youth?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about the fish thing,” he apologizes, moving to whisk the plate away again. “That would be rather macabre, wouldn’t it? Let me get you something else —”

She waves him off, though, pulling the plate back with her other hand. “Jones, it’s fine. You are aware of how many fish subsist on other fish, right? It’s not an issue.”

He furrows his brow in confusion. “What seems to be the problem, then? I don’t mean to pry, but you seem hesitant about this meal.”

“I don’t eat,” she explains simply. “Or at least I don’t need to. I can, but it’s not necessary for my survival.”

“That seems… odd.”

“It does, until you remember the curse. It’s very determined to keep me alive no matter what - not needing food is just another way to keep me from depriving myself of it.” Starve herself to death, she means, but they’re both tactful enough not to say it. 

“So when you say you don’t eat…” he trails off in question.

“I mean that I haven’t in a very, very long time. Longer than I can remember. Kelp and seaweed and raw seafood don’t make for a very appetizing meal, as it turns out,” she teases lightly.

“Then allow me to present you with the feast of a lifetime,” Killian declares with a smile and a dramatic flourish. “The finest hardtack on the seven seas. By which I mean it will still break a tooth if you’re not careful. Shall I pour some wine with dinner?”

“By all means,” Emma smiles, gesturing with a regal air from her tub. Somehow, she still manages to look like a queen, even in such a ridiculous setting.

(It’s the best dinner he’s had in a long time, despite the simple menu, and he thinks it just might be due to his new companion.)

There’s a multitude of other little things he learns as the days pass - like the way that she softly snores if she’s not submerged completely underwater, or how she loves to debate any subject he brings up (and articulately, at that, though her sources sometimes need a little updating after centuries of isolation), or the way she rolls her eyes when he spouts off a particularly clever innuendo. Maybe it’s just his own years of loneliness talking, but it’s nice, having her companionship. Someone he doesn’t have to be the captain with, who he can talk to over books or dinner and who makes him smile. It’s something he could get used to over time, if allowed, even if the idea of that - of coming to depend on someone again - is a little bit terrifying.

As well as they get along, the fact is that Emma is still a full-sized mermaid residing in an oversized tub. It’s not a lot of space, and Killian’s impressed that she’s lasted as long as she has. In her proverbial shoes, he would have long since been driven mad by the close confines - probably have been constantly plagued by cramps as well. So he completely understands when she finally caves and asks to be returned to the open ocean, if only for a little exercise.

“Maybe I’ve been a mermaid for too long, but I’m antsy, knowing the ocean is  _ right there _ and I’m still here in this stupid basin,” she explains. “I know we still don’t know what will happen, now that I’m so far from where I’m supposed to be, but… I need to try it. You can stay right there to try and pull me back if you like, just… Please. I need this.”

“Of course, love.” She needn’t ask twice.

In case some bizarre magic portal does open beneath where Emma enters the water, they do make the decision for Emma to be lowered to the water in a rowboat with Killian instead of just diving off the rail of the Jolly like he’s sure she could do easily. They almost certainly make quite the picture, the mermaid and the one-handed pirate together in the little craft being lowered to the water, but any absurdity is worth the look of excitement on Emma’s face. 

As soon as she slips into the water, still grasping his hand and empty wrist (and  _ that _ doesn’t send little quivers of some feeling quivering through his veins, not at all), it’s easy to hear her audible sigh of relief. 

“Feels nice, does it?” he grins down to where Emma’s head is just peeking out of the water. If he thought her tail was beautiful in the dim light of the brig or in the cramped confines of her tub, it’s nothing to the way that the scales glisten here in the open water, their iridescence reflecting in every color of the rainbow as her tail sways gently back and forth beneath the surface, keeping her buoyant.

“I can’t even describe it,” she admits, smiling right back. “It feels wonderful.” She takes a deep breath before exhaling once again. “I’m going to try letting go,” she announces.

“Aye, alright,” Killian agrees. “Slowly? To be safe?”

Emma seems to be barely listening for the anticipation of it all, but still nods as she removes her hand from his left wrist. With a final exhalation and a nod of determination, she slowly releases his hand as well to float of her own accord, still within reach of Killian and the boat but entirely self-supported in the water. 

“I think it’s alright,” she smiles brilliantly, quickly dunking herself under the surface so that her hair floats out in all directions, weightless against the flow of the water. “Better than.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Killian smiles back. “Enjoy your swim.” 

He’s fully prepared to retrieve his book from the waterproof sack he’d stowed it in for the descent from the deck, but Emma interrupts him before he can reach underneath the seat. “Aren’t you coming in too?” she asks, face screwed up in confusion.

“Not today, lass,” he replies, forcing himself to chuckle in a manner that hopefully reads as lighthearted. There’s a multitude of reasons he won’t get in the water - most of them relating to the lash scars still on his back - but mostly it comes down to the fact that he doesn’t want to. Well, that and the scars and the elaborate straps of his brace.

(The wenches in the port bars never mind too much that their encounters aren’t anything more than a quick, mostly-clothed fuck, so no one has seen all the damage to his body in years - and in the case of his mangled wrist, no one ever has. It’s a lot of vulnerability to show to a person, and he just doesn’t think he can handle that yet.)

Quickly, he busies himself trying to locate the volume as slowly as possible in hopes that it’ll keep Emma from digging any further. It doesn’t work. Not that he’s surprised - he’s fielded more than a few questions from her in the past days. She’s certainly inquisitive, he’ll give her that - though it’s bordering on nosy at times. This is definitely one of those.

“What, don’t you know how to swim?” she asks, the teasing clearly evident in her tone. 

“Of course I do,” he replies absently, still focusing on avoiding her gaze and fishing the bag out from where it’s gotten caught beneath the bench. “I’ve known how to swim since I was young. Liam taught me.”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but tries not to tense up so much as to immediately give that away. It’d just been a slip of the tongue; he’d been so determined to not say anything about the physical scars he’d wanted to hide, he’d forgotten to guard against the emotional scars he’d already declared himself not ready to talk about. Maybe he’ll get lucky, maybe she’ll let it pass, maybe —

“Who’s Liam?” the silky voice cuts through. Of course she heard and wants to know more - she’s a clever one, Swan is, absorbing and processing everything around her at all times, including the things he’d rather she not examine.

It’s too late for that, though - the cat is already out of the bag, or whatever the proper oceanic comparison is. Sitting back upright, Killian takes a fortifying breath before replying. Perhaps if he answers her inquiries quickly and in a straightforward manner, it won’t hurt so badly. “Liam was my brother. Captain Liam Jones. He’s gone, now.”

Emma’s brows lower as she processes this, before something seems to click. “He was the one in the Navy.”

Killian nods. “Aye. To be fair, we both were. We were sent to find a medicinal plant, but when we discovered it… well. As it turns out, our king has more nefarious aims than we were aware of, and my brother died because of his faith in the bastard. Scratched himself with one of those damn thorns to prove to me that if was perfectly safe.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma murmurs. It almost looks like she wants to reach for him - in comfort, in companionship, in a pure human instinct that can’t be stifled even by a curse - but still doesn’t. It’s probably for the best; she is dripping wet, after all, and he doesn’t have any interest in her soaking him as well. 

Killian jerks his head and shoulders into a little half-shrug, like it still doesn’t affect him in every corner of his soul. “What’s done is done,” he finally says. “But, needless to say, I wasn’t exactly eager to continue in the Navy after that, serving that evil son of a bitch. Drastic measures were taken, you might say, and I found myself the captain of a pirate ship. Spent the next several years crippling Navy ships until the king was deposed and replaced with a distant cousin.”

He expects that to be the end of it; he shares a painful memory, they both lapse into awkward silence, and eventually return to their solitary pursuits. Emma surprises him though, taking a deep breath as if to brace herself before making her own revelation.

“There was a man, once,” she tells him. “That’s what led to the curse.”

“You don’t have to —” Killian interrupts, trying to assure her that he doesn’t expect any reciprocity, but Emma shakes her head.

“It’s alright,” she tells him, “it’s only fair. Tit for tat, or something.” Another deep breath, and a smile that seems a little sad. “His name was Neal, he was a sailor, and I was… Gods, I was so in love. That all-consuming kind of love where they’re the light of your days and the center of your world. He was a crewman on a whaling ship, and I’d worry myself sick every time he left on a voyage. I was so convinced that one day, something would happen and he wouldn’t come back.

“But there was a witch in our village, too. Regina. She’d been there for longer than anyone could remember and never seemed to age a day; rumor had it that the apples on the tree in her garden granted her immortality, though I don’t know how true that was. She could do wonderful things, if you were willing to pay. I couldn’t pay, unfortunately, but I’d heard tell that she’d grant favors sometimes, if the cause was good enough. Or she’d find some other price for you to pay with. So I went to Regina and begged for a charm, a spell,  _ something _ that would keep him safe. I swore up and down that we had true love, and that I couldn’t bear it if anything was to happen to him. And she agreed - with one condition. She’d grant me a little bit of enchanted cord he could wear to keep him from harm, if I granted her a strand of each of our hair so that she could bottle the essence of true love.

“And I agreed. I was so young, you know? And I believed, so much, that what we shared really was true love, the rarest and most precious magic of all. So I gave her a strand of my hair and found a strand of his and she gave me the cord in return. 

“She was as good as her word, too; it worked. Not even six months later, his ship wrecked in a storm, leaving only a handful of survivors. Somehow, he was one of them. It was such a small price to pay for his safety, two strands of hair, especially since it  _ worked _ .”

Killian won’t interrupt, not in the middle of something so important, but he has a terrible feeling about where this is going. It’s all a little too idyllic, a little too good to be true. Sure enough:

“I was so naive back then,” Emma continues with frustration seeping into her tone. “I thought that would be the end of the matter. I thought I was  _ it  _ for Neal, the same way he was for me. But only weeks after he returned, he met someone else. It wasn’t true love at all, and I suddenly hadn’t paid the price demanded. Maybe I had saved his life, but at the cost of my own. Regina turned me into  _ this  _ when she found out, trapped me in that cove, and I’ve been trying to find some way out of her curse ever since. You know the rest.”

“Aye, I do.” It’s an even sorrier tale than he imagined - a young woman, betrayed in love and forced to unimaginable sacrifice because of it. It makes him even more determined to find a way to free her from this, whatever it takes. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It was the right thing to do,” she says, shrugging. Killian thinks they might be alike in that way - two people just trying to rediscover that small bit of good form still left in the deepest corner of their souls, from back before time and circumstances turned them into the weathered creatures they are now. Neither one of them had particularly wanted to share the darkest moments in their long lives, but they’d unintentionally struck an agreement that first day - she’d share if he would - and Emma had stuck to that. Their alliance may have started tentatively, but it’s holding.

He’s more confident that ever that they’ll be able to break this thing.

———

Things shift, ever so slightly, in those days following their afternoon in the water. There’s a new trust between himself and Emma, born of those revelations and fostering a greater familiarity between the two. That’s something Killian hasn’t had in a long time. Sure, he has his crew, but he always has to wear the mask of “Captain” around them; when you’re supposed to be the man in charge, there’s no real room for emotional intimacy. Swan is different though - a guest, really, someone he doesn’t have any authority over and doesn’t need to. It’s refreshing, and offers him something he hasn’t had the opportunity for in years:  _ friendship _ .

It’s the ease of their interactions that makes this so special, Killian realizes one night as he prepares for bed. Emma is settling down in her basin as well, setting whatever book she’s reading today aside and allowing herself to slide more completely beneath the water’s surface. He’s a little surprised that she’s so ready to go to sleep; she’d been unusually tired this afternoon, to the point that she’d napped in the cabin for several hours earlier. He’s surprised that she could still be tired after that, though he supposes if she’s that tired it would likely persist. Remembering how graceful and peaceful she’d looked that afternoon, one hand delicately draped over the edge of the tub as she emitted a soft whistle with every breath, Killian can’t help but smile - something she doesn’t miss, of course.

“What are you smirking at?” she demands, her own voice teasing. 

“I think that seems a little harsh of a description,” he shoots back, sharpening what had actually been a relatively soft smile into a cocky grin. He likes this banter; they’re rather good at it, Killian thinks. “Personally, I think it was more of a dashing smile.”

“Fine then,” she huffs dramatically, even as a smile continues to pull at the corners of her mouth. “What are you ‘smiling dashingly’ about?”

“You, of course.” That part is the truth, even if he knows she won’t take it seriously.

Sure enough, she scoffs in response. “Please.”

“It’s true! What, I can’t smile about having a pretty lass in my cabin?”

“I bet you say that to all the women,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

“Only the ones I like,” he winks back.

It’s just a witty little thing to say, a spur of the moment comment, but it gets him thinking later, once all the lamps are extinguished and Emma has slipped below the water. It’s not possible that he  _ fancies _ Emma Swan, is it? It shouldn’t be. They’ve known each other for such a short while, and even if he does feel a strong connection to the mermaid in his company, that’s probably just because she’s the closest human bond he’s had in ages. Killian doesn’t think that he’s ready for anything more serious, anyways, not when he still remembers all the pain of his Milah’s death. Emma will want to leave once her curse is broken; he can’t afford to get more attached to someone temporary.

Killian forces the matter from his mind. It can’t be anything deeper; that’s nonsense. If nothing else, it’s a matter for later.

With that, he rolls over to face the wall and drops into sleep.

——— 

In retrospect, they should have been more concerned about the water. 

There hadn’t been any immediate, visible reaction when Emma had dived into the ocean, even if she was beyond her magically-imposed borders. All he could see was the relief as she stretched, executing lazy flips and twirls before surfacing again. After they’d moved past the downer of their mutual revelations, Emma had spent hours just swimming around, just because she could. She was beautiful like that, and free in a way Killian had never seen. The rest of the afternoon passed in a lazy haze with her in the water and he in the rowboat, no sign of danger to come on the horizon.

Even in the days immediately following, there’s no cause for concern. Sure, Emma is a little lethargic, but neither of them thinks anything of it; Killian is sure he’d be a little slow too if he was forced to sit in bed all day, every day for days on end. 

Emma gets steadily worse as they get closer to port, however, until she’s a shivering, sweaty mess, as if struck by a fever. Her skin still holds that fish-like coldness, however, and she assures Killian that never once in her centuries of cursed life has she ever gotten sick. This is something else. 

It’s easy connecting the dots after that. They’d been so foolish to underestimate her curse - after all, what else could this be? Maybe the curse didn’t have the power to magically transport her back to within the boundaries of her cove, but it turns out that it does have the power to slowly poison her should she enter unsanctioned waters, and that’s horrifically worse. Their mission had always been important - striving for someone’s freedom is the most noble cause, after all - but now it’s deadly crucial that they succeed, before the curse completes its own deadly aim. 

“I’m alright,” Emma assures him once the Jolly makes landfall and he’s preparing to search out their witch. It’s a lie, and an obvious one at that; she’s sickly pale and trembling. Even an utter idiot could see that she’s far from fine. At least they know they’re in the right place; time is of the essence, but Emma had recognized the landscape and the curve of the coast beneath all the new population and its structure and monuments. “Go, find Regina. Her cottage was on the highest bluff, you should start looking there.”

When Killian reaches that bluff, however, there’s no cottage left to see. A tall stone fireplace still stands tall amongst the wild grasses and flowers, but that’s all that’s left to see. Nature has almost entirely reclaimed the site. Killian thinks he can spot the edges of bricks poking through the low mound that must cover the remains of the house, but even that seems a stretch.

Asking in the village-turned-city for the witch Regina doesn’t help either. No one has heard of a living person of that name and occupation, but they do all know of a legend, peculiar to this part of the world. In other circumstances, Killian might almost have enjoyed the tale: the story of a witch, alive for centuries, who fell in love with a common thief and ran off with him, taking nothing more than a sack full of the apples that had lengthened her life for so long before destroying the tree and letting her home crumble to rubble behind her. Unfortunately, he also knows that the best stories have their basis in truth, and there are just too many details that point to this fable chronicling what has happened to Regina, from the apples that kept her alive for hundreds of years to the house she supposedly lived in on that same bluff. A handful of old ladies even claim to remember her from their youth. It’s her, and it’s a dead end.

“She’s long gone, Swan,” he reports back to Emma, failing to hide the disappointment and sorrow and concern in his voice.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she murmurs, gazing blankly into the middle distance. Still, she tries to smile a weak smile as she turns to meet Killian’s eyes. “Thank you for trying.” Despite the smile, her voice is resigned. It’s obvious she thinks this is the end.

“I’m not giving up so easily,” Killian fires back. “There must be someone who can undo this.”

“Who?” Emma asks. Her voice is edged with desperation in a way that Killian doesn’t like at all. “Witches can’t alter each other’s curses. Hell, this should have ended when Regina died, but it somehow didn’t. We are out of options.” She slumps back into the water as she finishes, clearly exhausted. 

“I won’t believe that,” he insists. “I know a fairy, one whose specialty is True Love. Maybe she can help. Isn’t it worth trying, at least?”

“Fine,” she agrees, “but if it doesn’t work… it’ll be okay, Killian. I’ve lived a long enough life, and if this is how it ends, then so be it.” It’s the first time she’s called him by his first name, and it kills him that it’s in the middle of such a bleak moment.

“I’m not giving up so easily,” he repeats for lack of anything better to say, before moving to order his crew to set a new course.

This has to work.

——— 

Even if Killian does know every back way into Neverland, all the little cracks between realms and waterways unknown even to Peter Pan himself, he never relishes having to make that trip. He’ll go to his grave believing that cursed island to be Purgatory itself made real in the world. However, the Jolly now makes the journey faster than he thinks it ever has, all for a chance to save Emma before it’s too late. 

Talking to Tink is a longshot; she’s technically not even a fairy anymore, having long since lost her wings in an incident she doesn’t like to talk about. Something about trying to help the wrong person find their true love. There’s also the small fact that she’s probably also  _ furious _ with him after Killian left Neverland for good without taking her with him. In his defense, he had to take advantage of a rare moment when Pan was absent from the island and time was of the essence to escape before he returned. Come to think of it, it will be dangerous for Killian to return to Neverland at all, lest the demon Pan trap and possibly torture or kill him for the transgression, but that’s a risk he’s going to have to take. Tinkerbell knows more about True Love than anyone else he’s aware of, and he’s willing to risk anything, from feminine rage to Pan himself, if it will break Emma’s curse and save her life. 

Emma herself has taken a decided turn for the worse, her condition deteriorating with every day and every hour. She’s started slipping in and out of consciousness, her waking moments still dominated by the feverish shaking that first plagued her. On top of everything, she’s constantly parched when she’s awake and aware, and her very skin seems incapable of retaining moisture. A mermaid lives and dies submerged in water, or should; now, it seems to have no effect. He can practically see her shriveling before his eyes as her skin turns rough and tight across her bones, her tail like sandpaper to the touch in places.

Killian has found himself spending a lot of time reading to Emma in her sickness, something that seems to calm both of them. There’s no telling if she hears his voice while she’s unconscious, but their adventure tales are one of the only things that can make her smile even a little bit anymore, so Killian keeps on doing it regardless of her conscious or unconscious state. It calms him a bit, too; he’s frantically worried about Swan nearly every hour of the day, and the reading at least lets him feel like he’s doing  _ something _ . The depth of his concern had surprised him - after all, he’s only known Emma for a matter of weeks. However, after all the time they’ve spent together, all their talks, the way they were able to reveal things about themselves - hell, he even told her about Milah, the loss of his hand, and all the subsequent years in Neverland after that magical-seeming day in the water - he feels like he  _ knows _ her, in a way he hasn’t known another human being in a very long time. Time is no hindrance to true emotional closeness and trust, and he knows beyond a doubt: Emma Swan trusts him, the same way he trusts her right back. He never would have thought that would be true after such a rough start, but somehow, it is.

She hasn’t woken at all today, and it scares him half to death. She’s still alive - there’s still a pulse in her wrists and neck. Killian checks periodically, and holds himself back from doing so any more often because of the way she whimpers at even the most gentle touch to her skin. They don’t have much time.

“Captain?” Smee interrupts, poking his head around the doorway and into the cabin. “We need your assistance on deck, we’re about to slip into Neverland.”

“I’ll be there momentarily, Mr. Smee.” As the little man hurries away, Killian leans in to check Emma’s pulse one more time. Still there, and still fighting. “Hang in there, darling, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he murmurs, brushing a lank curl away from her face before heading on deck. 

———

Sneaking into Neverland is the easy part; Killian knows how to navigate these waters better than anyone else, and could practically steer them along the hidden currents straight into a hidden bay with his eyes closed. That’s not hard, not anymore, not after hundreds of years. He can handle the wheel with a practiced hand, and the crew knows these routes just as well as he does, moving as one body in a synchronized effort.

No, the hard part is traversing through the dense tropical jungle that covers almost every inch of this accursed island. When Killian had been here and forced to traverse the island regularly, there’d been a set of paths that he made sure to keep cleared. However, even the foliage has a mind of its own in a place so steeped in magic as Neverland, and vines, flowers, and all manner of other flora would quickly overtake even the most established of trails if not regularly traversed and cleared. After an absence of several years, the trails have become nigh on impassable, and Killian is forced to hack his way through the greenery with his sword with every step he takes, doing his best to avoid vicious thorns and especially the variety of intoxicants that grow so prevalently. He knows what each of them induces - vivid hallucinations, unconsciousness, unbearably heightened libido and all manner of other things - and knows he doesn’t have time for any of their inconveniences. Time is of the essence, with Emma’s condition worsening by the minute.

Tinkerbell’s home should be just ahead, if he remembers right, and he’s spent far too much time trekking along this path through the years for him to remember incorrectly. Tink may have lost her wings, but she’s never stopped longing for the freedom she once found in the skies, and her abode reflects that: a series of platforms and reed walls nestled within the branches of the tallest tree for miles around, offering one of the best views of Neverland. It’s only topped by the cliffs of Deadman’s Peak, but Killian won’t go back there for anything - too many memories of Liam collapsing from the Dreamshade’s poison to make even the most beautiful view worse the effort to get up there and the pain, both emotional and physical, it evokes. Tink almost certainly knows he’s here already - Killian is quite familiar with the sightlines the treehouse offers, and there’s a clear view of the harbor where the Jolly has dropped anchor. Hell, she probably even saw him and Smee rowing over, maybe even can spot where the mousy little man waits with the rowboat on the sandy beach. Regardless, he’ll need to be on his guard; he can’t imagine he’ll be treated to a warm welcome from his former ally.

Sure enough, he’s barely stepped into the clearing she so carefully maintains around her tree before there’s the press of cold metal against his throat - a knife point, its wielder seemingly having materialized from the depths of the jungle. “You’ve got an awful lot of nerve coming back here after what you did to me,  _ Hook _ ,” she hisses, venom dripping from every syllable of her words. “Did Pan catch up to you after all? Or are you just back to make nice, because let me tell you, it won’t work. Save your pretty words.”

“Neither,” he croaks in response, doing his best not to move his throat too much. Already, there’s a trickle of blood creeping its way down his neck from where the point of her weapon had pricked him, and he doesn’t relish the thought of that little dagger digging any deeper. “I’m not here for me, or for you. I’m here on behalf of someone else.”

“And why should I believe you?” Tink demands, pressing in closer. “Everyone knows that Captain Hook only cares about his own interests.”

“Because it’s the truth!” He doesn’t have any better answer than that, but somehow, Killian knows it won’t be enough. “Because I’ve told you of my past, and you know I used to be a man of honor. Because I’ve never told you a lie. Because I wouldn’t come back to this hellhole without a damn good reason. Because a woman doesn’t deserve to  _ die  _ because you can’t bring yourself to believe me!” His voice rises with each excuse without his conscious decision until he’s yelling, and it’s only Tinkerbell’s slight step back that keeps him from being stuck like a pig.

“This woman,” she asks, finally sheathing the knife back at her waist, “you love her?”

“Most certainly not,” Killian huffs and crosses his arms into a defensive posture - as if the words of one petite blonde fairy could physically harm him. Fool. “But I do care for her. She deserves to live her life, and a good one at that. Isn’t that enough?”

“Sure it is,” Tink replies easily - though Killian does spot a knowing, almost mischievous twinkle in her eye. Bloody fairy probably didn’t believe a word he said. “Where do I come in, though? You haven’t been particularly…  _ illuminating _ in this defensiveness.”

“As if I could get a word in edgewise with that damned knife to my throat,” he mutters.

“Like I’m the first one to try that. Now talk, pirate.”

And he does. He tells Tink all about Emma and her curse, True Love gone bad and their failed attempts to find the woman who could reverse the whole thing. He’s barely touched on the illness now causing Emma to waste away before his very eyes before Tink starts shaking her head. 

“I can’t do anything for her, Hook,” she tells him, voice dripping with regret. “I’m sorry.”

“Why in the hell not?” Never mind the fact that her tone is honest, sympathetic even, offering no indication that she’s telling anything but the unfortunate truth. “You’re a fairy —”

“ — a former, disgraced fairy —”

“Semantics. This is a curse, brought on by True Love. You’re supposedly an expert in that very phenomenon. And you’re saying that you can’t do anything?”

“Curses aren’t like other magic,” Tink explains. “They’re very specific to the caster, and designed to last. Any meddling that I, or anyone else, would attempt would only make an already bad situation worse. As for True Love… it’s the most powerful magic of all, and any curse infused with it would be doubly strong. I can’t imagine what bottled love gone sour would do, but I can’t imagine anything good. The thing about True Love is that there’s nothing else like it - there’s no substitute and it can’t be replaced. I know you think that I know everything there is about True Love, but I can’t fix this.”

“Well what about fairy dust?” Killian demands, not even attempting to hide the desperation in his voice anymore. There has to be something,  _ anything _ ; he doesn’t want to admit that they’re staring down defeat. 

“Fairy dust is… That’s not what it does. It’s a structural thing, a tool; it can enchant objects, or lend extra power to potions or enchantments, but that’s it. It’s useless for the kind of curse breaking that you want.” Despite all the threats that started their interaction, Tink’s voice is gentle as she reiterates her apology. “I’m sorry, Killian. I wish I could help her, but there’s just nothing I can do.”

Killian nods in response, his mind going numb as the reality of those words sinks in. This was already their last wild hope, and all for naught. It’s the end of the line. “Thank you for trying,” he hears himself say distantly. “I’ll, uh… I guess I’ll…”

“Go to her,” Tink finishes. He can’t quite read the odd, soft little smile on the fairy’s face, and frankly, he’s too exhausted to try - both physically and emotionally.

“Gather your things, if you like,” he offers before turning to leave. “We’ll be happy to take you away from here.”

As Tinkerbell bustles off to pack whatever odds and ends she wants to keep, Killian begins to make his way back through the woods along the newly remarked path. There’s half a temptation to move slowly and put off having to convey the full extent of his failure for as long as he can; Killian doesn’t relish the thought of having to crush Swan’s hopes yet again, if she’s even well enough to hear it. It’s a selfish thought, though, and he does his best to push it aside. It’s obvious that Emma doesn’t have much time left, and after all her years alone, if she’s going to die, she deserves someone holding her hand until the very end. With that in mind, Killian forces himself to hurry, rushing through the jungle as quickly as he can without tripping on any vines or stray roots. 

As it is, he’s terrified that they’re too late when Starkey, one of his last sailors from the Navy days, meets the rowboat as soon as it’s hauled aboard. 

“It’s not looking good, Captain,” he says. “We’ve got the cabin boy down there trying to keep her hydrated, but.. It’s not looking good, Captain.”

“I’ll make that judgement for myself,” he all but snaps. He’ll have to apologize to the man later, but panic and fear has a way of removing the niceties from one’s speech. What’s more important is getting down to his cabin and assessing the situation for himself. 

It’s just as bad as he’d been warned, however. Emma looks almost grey in the skin and scales, and as much as young Hawkins is obviously trying to pour fresh water over her skin, it’s obvious that she’s absorbing none of it, every inch of her flesh dry, cracked and flaking. He’s terrified to check for a pulse, half convinced he won’t find anything. He supposes that the boy wouldn’t be trying his best to keep her comfortable if he didn’t still think she had life in her though. Speaking of which:

“Thank you, lad, that will be fine for now,” Killian says quietly, a little afraid to break the quiet that dominates the sickroom his cabin has become. “Close the door on your way out, please.”

“Aye, Captain,” young Hawkins replies, hopping into motion as soon as the cup he’d been using is replaced in the bucket of water next to the tub, but Killian barely hears him, not even processing when the heavy cabin door shuts with a soft thud.

Her breath is just a fluttery little thing now that he can barely feel on the back of his hand held close to her face. Killian is suddenly struck with the sudden urge to hold her close in these last minutes and hours, provide her with some of that deeply human comfort she’s been denied for so long. It’s obvious that the pool of water isn’t helping anyways; she’s dry as a bone, no matter how thoroughly she’s submerged or for how long. Knowing that, it’s easy to cave to the urge. 

She’s so much lighter now than she was a mere month ago, the magic and the fever it’s caused eating away at her form. It barely takes any effort to pluck her from the tub and settle both of them on the edge of his bunk, her tail draped limply across his lap. No doubt they’re soaking the bed linens, but that doesn’t matter right now. 

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he murmurs, running his hand gently down her arm in what he hopes will register as a comforting touch. “I wanted so badly to help you, to help you live the life you deserve, but I failed you, and I only hope one day you can forgive me from wherever you end up. I wanted so much better for you.” His throat is becoming suspiciously tight. When did he become so attached to Swan? “I think that I might have come to love you, given the chance,” he admits, “but I guess we’ll never know. Whatever happens, I just want you to know that I’m here. I’ll be here until the very end. It’s alright, if you’re ready to rest.”

He holds her for a while longer, rocking her body back and forth and stroking her hair. When her pulse is so slow as to be almost indiscernible, Killian blinks back the tears to try and give her a proper goodbye. 

“Thank you for everything, my Swan, all the trust you’ve placed in me. I’ll never forget you,” he murmurs. “Godspeed.” And in a final gesture, Killian leans down to place a soft kiss on her lips - a tender sealing of all the things that might have been. 

That’s when it happens.

It starts as warmth, a gentle glow that seems like it’s suffusing every pore and fills him with a sense of peace that he never expected to feel in this moment. That warmth increases and expands, however, until it’s no longer contained just within his body and instead washes outwards over the whole room in a bright flash of rainbow light that he pulls away from Emma’s form just in time to see. Under other circumstances, Killian might take the time to investigate, to wonder exactly what just happened —

— but in that same moment, Emma stirs in his arms.

“Swan?” he queries softly, barely daring to hope.

Sure enough, though, her eyes flutter open, clearer than he’s seen in days and fully alert. “Jones?” She croaks. “What happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” he stammers back, stroking his hand along her cheek in wonder. What had only moments ago been sunken, dry, and grey is soft and warm again, healthily plump in the way that cheeks should be. “I thought you were doomed. I thought it was any moment now, and I —” he blushes, realizing how that kiss might sound now — “well, I moved to kiss you goodbye. But then there was this flood of warmth of light, and you woke up. I don’t know how.”

“You kissed me?” Emma doesn’t sound outraged, like he expected; rather, she just sounds curious. Maybe a little confused too. 

“Yes, I kissed you - just a little kiss, mind you, nothing untoward - but then you woke up, and —”

It seems to strike them at the same time - the implications of what those two undeniable facts put together might mean.  _ True Love’s Kiss _ . Emma’s eyes are blown wide with an emotion he can’t quite name - shock? Fear? Something else entirely? Whatever the case, Killian is certain that he must look much the same, as he knows that his thoughts are racing in a chaotic mess at the revelation. Emma scrambles to sit upright as it sinks in, bracing herself on his shoulders and scooting her bottom underneath her.

That’s when they notice the other revelation.

“Are those…” Killian murmurs in wonder before Emma completes his thought.

“ _ Legs _ .” She pats frantically - nay,  _ excitedly _ \- at the limbs, beaming up at Killian with her own joy suffusing every bit of her countenance. “ _ My  _ legs. My… naked legs.” That’s another thing they both notice at the same time - her unclothed state. Both flush a furious red, and Killian hurriedly drags a blanket over her lower half. 

“That’s better,” he mutters, trying to subdue the bright crimson staining his cheeks like some untried lad with his first paramour. Emma doesn’t even seem to hear him, though.

“I’m  _ free _ ,” she breathes, smiling a brilliant smile like he’s never seen before. It suits her, like a piece he didn’t know was missing in his perception of Emma Swan. “I can go anywhere.”

“Anywhere you want, and I’ll take you there,” Killian vows. Almost as soon as he says it, though, he’s struck with a spike of uncertainty. “That is, if you want me to.”

He almost expects her to say no. He’s a pirate, and he’s acting a bit presumptuously, and he’d understand entirely if she’d rather seek different company or even no company at all.

But Emma surprises him, shyly returning her hands to his chest. “I’d like that,” she declares softly. 

With those words, Killian’s heart feels like it’s about to fly right out of his chest in fluttery, hesitant joy and optimism. “Then we’ll do exactly that.”

———

And they do.

There’s things to do, and stops to make, but now, almost a month after Emma’s miraculous cure, they’re finally faced with the open sea and no plans to speak of.

Killian can’t wait.

Things with Emma are… evolving. They’re both fully aware of the power of that kiss, and what exactly it means, but it’s still terrifying to admit that. They’ve both been hurt by love, scarred in physical and emotional ways that they carry with them to this day. This feels different, and Killian will be the first one to admit it - light and hopeful and genuine, all feelings that he’s all but forgotten in the past three hundred years - but he still carries that memory of how deeply love can hurt when it’s ripped away from you. It’s terrifying to commit to that - to hand over such a power to another person again.

Still, they’re evolving. They spend their nights telling stories and searching out different constellations before Emma retires to his bunk and Killian to the cot placed where her ridiculous tub had once sat, now just a bathing vessel again. They’d tried sleeping apart - the crew had gladly cleared out a cabin for Emma and Tinkerbell to share as they ventured back towards a town where Emma could procure new clothes - but had both discovered that they’d come to find a comfort in the other’s presence, even in the short amount of time they’d travelled together on their search for a cure. After that, they’d quickly agreed with barely any discussion to bring the cot in instead. Killian insists Emma take the bunk, even if it’s likely not any more comfortable. It’s the least he can do, especially since he’s trying to rediscover how to be a gentleman again.

(For her - all for her. It’s funny how, even at his most hesitant, Emma makes him want to be the kind of man she deserves again.)

As slowly as their relationship is developing, Killian like learning how to enjoy all the little gestures of blooming affection again. Every brief touch sends butterflies into flight in his stomach, every smile carefully catalogued to see how he can elicit it again. They’d had an almost perfect day when they’d stopped in a small village to restock supplies and procure Swan some clothes of her choice, as Killian was able to grasp her hand and twine their fingers together to lead her through the market. When he’d bought her a flower on a whim, a soft pink Middlemist rose, Emma had blushed prettily before taking it with a small smile and gentle fingers. In that moment, he’d finally started to embrace the hope that the two of them could truly become something together. He’d even given her a kiss on the cheek goodnight.

(Tink had teased them mercilessly after that, even more than she already had, but it had been easy enough to ignore her behind his haze of happiness. Still, it’d been a relief to leave the smug fairy at the port of her choice to try and find a way to earn her wings again. Killian wishes her the best of luck.)

With Tinkerbell gone and no more curse or impending death hanging over their heads, there’s a sense of peace about Killian that he thinks Emma feels too, especially now that they’ve reached open waters once again. Privately, he wonders if she’ll miss her tail one day - not the curse itself, but the ease in the water that her scales had brought. It’s far too soon to broach the topic though, and Killian has a plan anyways - he’s heard before of bracelets from Glowerhaven that can grant the wearer the tail and powers of a mermaid for as long as they wish, and he’ll be happy to buy them both such a bauble if that day ever comes. 

Emma waits at the deck’s railing, surveying the waves as sunlight bounces off their peaks and glitters in the clear day. She looks so beautiful like this, so human and  _ happy _ that Killian can’t help but stop for a moment just to watch. There’s still something of the siren in her, with her lovely blonde curls and long legs in soft breeches and boots calling to him, but he knows that now, that’s only because he’s utterly enchanted in the most mundane, non magical way.  _ True Love  _ \- if he’s brave enough to grab it. With that thought bouncing around his head, he finally takes the finally steps forward to stand next to Emma, his hand and hook placed on the rail alongside Emma’s. She casually - a little  _ too  _ casually - twines her pinky finger around his, almost short circuiting his mind, especially with the small smile she offers him after he stares in awe at their entwined fingers a moment too long. That brings him back out of it.

“Do you know where you want to go, love?” he asks. That’s another thing to get used to - learning to mean every letter of those little nicknames he’s tossed around so casually with other women again.

“Everywhere,” she grins back, the note of teasing in her voice belied by the fact that he knows she really does want to explore the entire world and somehow try to make up for 600 years trapped in the same place. Maybe tonight he’ll test his luck and kiss her again - it’s hard not to want to when she says things like that.

“As you wish, love,” he replies, moving to squeeze her entire hand. 

They’ve got an awful lot of world to see, and ocean to cover, and the rest of their forever to do it in.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I had a lot of fun writing something different than I ever have before, and I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, consider leaving kudos, comments or other feedback - I thrive on your responses.
> 
> Also posted on tumblr - I'm @shireness-says. Come make friends.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it!


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